Cytokine Cascade
by Acependous
Summary: Both Kirk and Spock are forced to reconsider the nature of the affection they feel towards one another when a bout of Vulcan flu throws off the carefully constructed yet delicate balance of their friendship. Rated M for sexual content in the later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, I just play with it. If the current owners would like to donate it to me, however...**

** -o-o-o-o-o-**

**To my old readers: Thank you for sticking around. I know this is quite a bit different from the first version, but I hope you'll find this an enjoyable read nonetheless. Let me know what you think.  
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**To any possible new readers: Welcome. I'm sorry if I manage to traumatize you. **

**And a special thanks to WeirdLittleStories, who proofread the first chapter for me. I know I've been repeating 'thank you's' a lot but... thank you.  
**

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Whether it was due to an instinct much older than the man himself or simply because of his exceptional work ethic, Spock managed to hide almost all signs of illness for good three days until his poor appetite and unusual lack of energy began to attract attention. It took quite a bit of persuasion – and eventual blackmailing on Doctor McCoy's part – to make Spock report to sickbay and get himself examined, and once he finally did, it became apparent that he should have done so a lot sooner.

Captain Kirk stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, listening to the Chief Surgeon's irascible rant, to which Spock only responded with silence. According to McCoy, the Science Officer was running a fever and was developing symptoms similar to those of a flu. A quick check on Spock's medical records revealed that he had not been recently vaccinated against the most common Vulcan viruses, and having spent a weekend on his home planet had undoubtedly exposed him to immunological challenges he hadn't come in contact with for quite a while. As Spock took this opportunity to sit up and to leave the biobed he made a slightly disgruntled remark that perhaps Kirk and McCoy shouldn't have forced him to take the shore leave he had initially refused.

"If you want an apology, forget it", Doctor McCoy grunted and sauntered to his desk, setting down his PADD and giving the Vulcan officer a stern look. "Now, you'll be on sick leave until I say otherwise. I don't want you running around and prolonging whatever it is you've got."

So far Kirk had remained quiet, but decided that it was as good a time as any to ask questions, seeing as Spock probably wasn't going to do it. "It's nothing serious, though, is it?"

"I don't think so, but I'll take some of that green blood of his and test it, just to be sure."

"A saliva sample would most likely be sufficient, as it seems that this is an infection of the upper respiratory tract", Spock objected, but was forced to clear his throat before continuing. His voice was always a bit husky, but now it sounded unusually gravelly. It was obvious that his throat was getting increasingly sore. "But since Doctor McCoy is a splendid example of human malice-"

Bones perked a sardonic eyebrow and interjected before the Commander could insult him any further. "So you're saying that spitting into a cup is somehow less degrading to you than giving a few drops of blood?"

"This is hardly a matter of dignity, Doctor. I simply don't understand your desire to use such invasive methods, especially when less invasive alternatives are available."

"Slitting your jugular for a blood test would be an invasive method", the physician was quick to retort. He was not in the mood for any of this. "Unless you want me to do that, you better roll up that sleeve."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Even though he would never admit it – even to himself – Spock had all morning been plagued by something that had an uncanny resemblance to enthusiasm. It was hidden under his cool, stone-faced surface, but hiding the problem didn't seem to get rid of it; the feeling was still there, subtly forcing him to quicken his pace as he made his way down the corridor.

For a week he had been forced to be completely useless, and now he was eager to get as much done as he could to make up for his absence. And there was certainly not a lack of things to do; as soon as he had been seen out and about he had suddenly been needed absolutely everywhere, even though his actual shift didn't start until later. But he wasn't complaining; being ridiculously busy was always better than laying in bed one day after another, not being allowed to be helpful.

The Science Officer was constantly receiving greetings, even from the crew members who usually didn't acknowledge him in any way when simply walking past him in a hallway. It seemed his presence evoked delight, for some reason. True enough, he had spent the past week mostly in his quarters recovering from his bout of flu, but it still baffled him why such a short period of absence earned him so much attention. But humans were an odd bunch, he had learned, and he assumed that their emotional response to his return was simply yet another species-specific trait.

As Spock stepped through the doorway to the galley he was almost deafened by the loud hum of voices. It was a few minutes past 1200, and noon was always an excruciatingly noisy time of day, as most of the people in daytime shifts were taking a lunch break. This included a certain command-gold-wearing officer as well, Spock noticed; the Captain was sitting alone in a corner table, blankly staring at a plate of food in front of him and appeared to be in deep thoughts. This evoked subtle curiosity in the Vulcan, for James Kirk wasn't known for spacing out at random moments.

A food tray in his hands, the Science Officer approached him, head slightly tilted to the side as his dark gaze studied the man's face, looking for anything that could give him a heads up on his superior officer's mood. The Captain didn't notice him until he was close enough to set his tray on the table, and once he did he was given a stern look by his friend, who obviously had neither expected nor wanted any company. Kirk's hazel eyes lit up, however, as he realized who he was looking at.

"Afternoon, Mr. Spock. How're you feeling?"

"Very well, thank you", Spock replied promptly, giving the Captain a curt nod. "A slight soreness in my throat still persists, but I'm confident that it will subside soon enough."

"I'll take your word for it. Please, take a seat."

The Science Officer complied and gracefully seated himself across the table from Kirk, taking a sip from his glass of water as he waited for the man to pick up the conversation again. His patience was hardly even needed.

"I'm sorry I didn't have time to call on you during your sick leave. It's been a bit hectic without you on the bridge."

"Surely you kept the library computer station manned?"

"Of course, but you know how it is with people who don't have that much experience yet", Kirk assured, a carefree shrug raising his shoulders. "I swear, I spent more time instructing Ensign Leroy than actually doing my own job."

Spock tilted his head in approval. Leroy was a logical choice, even though the young man did occasionally lack confidence. "I assume that he eventually... got the hang of it?"

"Naturally, he's a lot smarter than I am", the Captain laughed and leaned back in his chair, idly playing with his fork. "Anyway, what have you been up to?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I spent most of the week familiarizing myself with some Terran war-time literature."

"Heavy stuff, isn't it?"

"Yes", Spock agreed. He could see how some of the books he had read could affect the reader's emotions. But Spock himself was immune to such undesirable effects, of course. "I must say, however, that most of it is not a bad read."

"Bones is going to have a field day if he hears that you've taken a liking to Earth literature", Kirk teased his First Officer. McCoy would absolutely love to needle the Vulcan about it should he get the chance.

"I happened to recently notice that Doctor McCoy has been reading Vulcan poetry. I dare say that I might have the upper hand."

"I'll start selling tickets." Kirk lifted a glass of water to his smiling lips and took a sip, noticing the Vulcan furrow his elegant, arched eyebrows. For a brief moment he wondered what the cause might be, until he came to a realization that halted his movements; once again he had accidentally grabbed Spock's glass of water instead of his own. This was a recurring problem as both the Captain and his First Officer preferred to keep their drinks on the table between their trays, and for whatever reason Kirk was always inclined to take the one on the left hand side. "I did it again, didn't I?"

The spark of a repressed smile in Spock's eyes was a sufficient answer to Kirk's question. The Captain suspected that Spock found this particular quirk of his amusing, despite its somewhat troublesome nature. To a germaphobe it would be absolutely horrifying, of course, but neither Spock nor Kirk were particularly bothered by it, even though it tended to occasionally attract some attention.

Their easygoing chat was interrupted by Doctor McCoy, who seemed to appear out of nowhere and suddenly slammed his tray on the table next to Kirk, growling: "I told you ten times to report to sickbay before lunch, Mr. Spock, and yet you still didn't show up. Care to explain yourself?"

Spock raised his chin to gaze at the physician, head innocently tilted to the side. "Something requiring my immediate attention came up."

"Don't give me that crap when you don't even believe it yourself", McCoy barked and pointed a butter knife at the Vulcan. "You'll get your green-blooded behind to sickbay by 1300 or you can be damn sure that you're not setting so much as a foot on the bridge."

Kirk gave the Science Officer a disapproving look, although fighting the urge to laugh at the same time. Even though Spock was probably telling the truth, it was amazing how easily he made it seem like he wasn't, just to get on the Doctor's nerves. As amusing as their bickering was, the Captain's responsibility was to put an end to it. "Tell me, Mr. Spock, what was it that distracted you so?"

"A glitch in the main diagnostic system of the engineering section."

"And what did you do to resolve the issue?"

"Recalibrated the system. The problem appeared much worse than it actually was."

"How about that", the Captain said to McCoy, his tone slightly more assertive than necessary to cover his amusement. "It seems he really had somewhere else to be."

"He still needs to be examined so I can mark his sick leave as completed."

"Of course." Kirk shot a gaze at Spock, who seemed to already know what his new orders would be. "Mr. Spock, report to sickbay by 1300."

Spock's right eyebrow twitched upwards, and he didn't seem defeated at all. "Yes, sir."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It took Kirk a good couple of minutes to figure out where he was and what had happened as he woke up in the middle of the night, tangled in his sheets and sweating up a storm after having an exceptionally distressing dream involving Bones in a bloodied butcher's apron and Spock with a pair of antlers sprouting from his head. Why his brain would generate something so thoroughly unsettling remained a mystery, but the Captain suspected it might have something to do with the sickening headache throbbing on his forehead. His limbs felt sore and almost too heavy to lift, but the nausea swelling in the back of his throat forced him to kick the duvet off of himself and stumble out of bed. Usually he was able to navigate his quarters in the dark with absolutely no difficulties, but now he he bumped into every possible piece of furniture on his way to the bathroom and had to feel the walls with his hands to find the door. Turning on the lights made his head split and he had to lean against the sink as a sudden wave of dizziness rushed over him. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that all color had escaped his face, and his forehead was glistening with sweat.

As he sat on the floor, gagging and dry-heaving with his aching head halfway inside the toilet bowl, Kirk began to realize that perhaps he should consider giving Bones a call, just in case. The dizziness and headache were getting worse, and the haziness of his vision didn't seem to be going away, either. He was starting to feel incredibly cold, and he could see the muscles of his exposed arms quiver under his skin as his body tried to create the warmth it apparently thought it needed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of a time he had felt as horrible as he did now; something was seriously wrong, and he needed to let someone – anyone – know before he simply keeled over.

Getting out of the bathroom to use the intercom proved to be significantly more difficult than Kirk had anticipated. His legs didn't seem to have sufficient strength to carry him, and the floor felt like jelly under his feet. He could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness as he scrambled towards his desk, with only the power of desperation at his side; if he didn't get the message through to someone who could help him, he could be in an even worse state by morning. And the worst part was, he couldn't figure out what was happening to him; just a couple of hours ago he had felt completely fine, but now he was certain he was going to die. Kirk's legs gave out just as he reached his desk, but somehow he managed to punch the button to open a frequency. He called out the first name that came to his feverish mind and waited for a response for what felt like a very painful eternity. His grip on the edge of the desk was beginning to slip, and he knew he didn't have much time until he would be inevitably embraced by unconsciousness. Spock's sleepy voice was rich with concern as it came through the intercom, and the Vulcan was very quick to ask if something was wrong.

"I might be in trouble", Kirk said, and gave up the fight.

The next time he regained consciousness, Kirk was being peeled off the floor and flung over a pair of shoulders much narrower than his own. His eyelids were too heavy to open, but the lingering scent of a familiar aftershave was enough to identify the person carrying his limp body through the dimly lit room. He could hear the door to his bathroom open, and the bright light seeped through his closed eyelids as Spock carefully stepped over the threshold and slowly set the Captain down onto the cool tiles. A pair of standard issue Starfleet boots clacked against the floor, and the water was suddenly turned on in his shower cubicle. Kirk wanted to give his First Officer a hint that he was awake, but the white-hot pain every single effort to move sent through his head forced him to lay still. As Spock grabbed him under the arms Kirk managed to force a pained groan out of himself, to which the Vulcan simply responded with a quiet apology.

The Captain was too confused and delirious to even question why his friend dragged him into the shower. The water raining on them was cold as ice and immediately made Kirk shiver, sending intense signals of pain throughout his nervous system. A soft noise escaped his throat as his head dropped back, against the warm shoulder of his First Officer. He was faintly aware that Spock was sitting in the shower with him, holding him in a somewhat upright position, arms protectively wrapped around his exposed shoulders.

Despite being immensely uncomfortable, the freezing water seemed to be helping; Kirk could feel some strength return to his body and was finally able get his eyes open and gaze at his pointy-eared guardian angel. Spock's dark hair was beginning to curl from the humidity, and his uniform was already soaking wet and clinging to his body. He couldn't quite see it through the feverish haze clouding his vision, but Kirk was certain that the look on his friend's face was that of genuine worry. It was an oddly comforting sight. Content that he was being taken care of, Kirk turned his head to the side and let his scorching hot forehead rest against his First Officer's jawline.

Spock suddenly perked up a bit which momentarily confused the Captain, but as Doctor McCoy stormed into the room it became apparent that the Science Officer's sensitive ears had picked up the footsteps of the approaching physician. For a split second the Doctor simply stood there and stared, baffled by the scene in front of him until he jumped into action.

"I've got a gurney waiting in the hallway. Help me carry him."

With the help of McCoy, Spock dragged Kirk out of the shower but refused any further assistance and picked the Captain up, determined to carry the man by himself. Kirk didn't really mind; he just hoped that they would soon stop tossing him around as it made him feel even worse. A wave of nausea was again rising in his throat, and the dizziness and headache were quickly returning. He could hear the two other men talking – no, arguing – as he was carried into the corridor and lowered onto the gurney. He was sure he even heard Spock raise his voice, but before he had time to concentrate on it he was greeted with the hiss of a hypo, and the voices around him rapidly faded away as he was engulfed in merciful darkness.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As Christine Chapel handed him a towel, Spock initially wanted to refuse it. There were more important things on his mind than his hair dripping water onto the sickbay jumpsuit McCoy had so kindly given him to replace his soaked uniform. It wasn't until Chapel threatened to blow dry his hair that Spock finally accepted the towel and loosely wrapped it around his neck, all the while blankly staring at the stray microtape on the Doctor's desk. Even his patience had its limits, and he wished the physician would hurry up and come to tell him what was wrong with the Captain. The Science Officer had a fairly strong suspicion as to what it might be that had made his friend so terribly ill, but he tried not to dwell on it too much until he had some sort of confirmation. Speculating without any actual information was not only illogical, but also completely useless.

As Doctor McCoy finally sauntered into the office it took all of Spock's self-discipline not to bolt out of the chair and demand answers. The Doctor took his sweet time as he circled the desk and took a seat across the Science Officer, all the while nervously fiddling with a stylus and not once raising his frosty gaze from the surface of the desk.

"The good news is that his temperature seems to be stabilizing. Hopefully we won't need the cooling blankets for much longer."

"You seem to be implying that there are also bad news."

"Yes", McCoy said and leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully pursing his lips. "The thing is, I haven't found what caused such a violent immune response. I'm still waiting for the results of the blood tests but the initial examination showed nothing out of ordinary. Except for the fact that he's only barely alive."

"Has he regained consciousness?"

"He's anesthetized, so no. I thought it might be for the best since any amount of stress could trigger the fever again."

"Indeed", Spock agreed reluctantly. "I assume you will re-evaluate the need to keep him unconscious once the cause of the illness has been confirmed?"

"Of course, but while we know absolutely nothing it's better if he's out cold."

Spock was forced to yield to the logic of this, no matter how little he liked it. But he didn't give McCoy the courtesy of responding.

"I don't know what else to tell you, Mr. Spock. Right now we'll just have to wait."

"I trust you will share all further information with me?"

"I thought it was obvious", McCoy grumbled dryly. "Listen, why don't you go get a couple more hours of sleep? I might actually have something to tell you if you came back later."

Spock could feel himself digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands as he complied, coldly wishing the physician good night and briskly marching out of the Chief Surgeon's office. Despite the Science Officer's best efforts to rid himself of all emotion, discontent was prominently present in him as he made his way through the sickbay. He had always been protective of the Captain, but this time it was very different. Something closer to possessiveness had flared up in him; it burned in his chest like glowing-hot iron and coursed through his veins like venom, reaching every cell in his body and fighting fiercely against his steely self-control. If his suspicions were proven right, it would mean that all of this was his fault, and the least he could do to make things right was to make sure that Kirk survived. But how was Spock supposed to do that if he wasn't allowed to stay by the Captain's side?

The Commander was already halfway outside the door when he heard McCoy running after him and calling out his name. Not even a title, just his name. Spock spun around with perhaps slightly too much eagerness in his movements, but it seemed the Doctor didn't even notice. The look in his blue eyes was a cocktail of surprise and concern, which was already enough of a reason for the Science Officer to follow as the physician briskly walked to the computer. There was an unmistakeable sinking feeling in Spock's stomach as he approached, and the usual green tinge of his skin escaped his face as he saw what was on the screen. His blood ran cold as he realized he was looking at a heavily magnified picture of the very same virus that had been found in his own blood a week ago.

"It was supposed to be a strain that can't infect humans", McCoy muttered, mostly to himself. "I checked three times."

A quiet "indeed" was all Spock managed to say.

No matter what people said, he didn't enjoy being right so often.


	2. Chapter 2

**As unbelievable as it might seem, I haven't abandoned this story. Quite the contrary. I've simply been so obsessed with perfecting every single detail that I eventually succumbed to writer's block for quite a long time. I finally managed to let go a little bit and got back into the flow and, well, finished the chapter in two hours. Sometimes I just make life way too hard for myself.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter. And I would also like to point out that your thoughts matter to me, so keep those reviews coming~**

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As soon as he would step into the hallway, he would unleash his personal hell. Spock realized this well beforehand, and during the sleepless two hours he had spent laying on his back with his bare feet dangling off the edge of the bed, he had had plenty of time to brace himself for it. Humans were incredibly curious by default, and since the humans Spock worked with were no different in that regard, he knew he would have to answer a lot of questions that had arisen as the rumors of the Captain's illness had undoubtedly begun to spread. There was always someone who couldn't keep any information to themselves, even when they gained absolutely nothing from passing it on to someone else. This was a trait of the human species the Science Officer had never understood, only observed with mild disapproval. If it served no logical purpose to share possibly sensitive knowledge, why was the act of sharing it so necessary to some?

So far Spock himself knew that he was currently a carrier of two different strains of the same virus; one strain only capable of thriving in the body of a Vulcan, and the other resilient enough to infect a human before being destroyed by the violent immune response it evoked. Doctor McCoy had pumped as much antivirals in him as possible within the boundaries of safety, and by now both strains were most likely losing the battle. But merely killing off the infectious agents didn't get rid of the actual problem; Spock had brought the virus on board, and his body possessed enough human traits to provide the perfect platform for the virus to mutate. In addition to this, his immune system had been weakened by too infrequent vaccinations and lack of contact with fellow Vulcans, hence the virus' prolonged presence in his system.

But how was he supposed to explain all this to the crew without making them consider him as a walking biohazard? Or was there even anything left to explain if a member of the medical personnel had talked about the situation to a friend, who in turn told another friend?

The Commander slowly rolled onto his side and rounded his back in an attempt to ease the tension in his muscles. It hadn't been particularly challenging for him to pick the Captain up and carry him into the shower and onto the gurney, but it seemed he had neglected the proper technique of lifting another person and had used his back more than his legs. A sharp pain shot up his spine as he pushed his knees towards his chest, taut muscles rippling under his skin as they refused to relax. The rational thing to do would be to go back to sickbay and ask McCoy to take a look at the painful area, but Spock found himself reluctant to do as logic dictated. He was slightly hazy from all the medicines coursing through his bloodstream, and he found the idea of possibly adding yet another drug to the mix quite an undesirable option.

Something had happened when the Science Officer had dashed into the Captain's quarters and found the man laying sprawled on the floor with a puddle of vomit next to his head. His forehead had been scorching hot under the Vulcan's tentative fingers, and he had been unresponsive to being touched and spoken to. Spock's first thought had been to get the man under a cold shower in order to stop his temperature from rising, as it had been obvious that he had had a dangerously high fever. The course of action had been most logical, but there was no explanation to how and why had he suddenly forgotten everything he knew about carrying another person. He had willingly sprained his back without giving one thought to preventing such an injury.

The austere look in Spock's eyes darkened as he furrowed his arched eyebrows at this thought, and despite his aching muscles begging for rest he sat up and reached for his boots.

Dwelling on this subject was not the lesser of two evils.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The first sensation to break through the darkness of Kirk's dissolving unconsciousness was the repulsive smell of disinfectant. His chest heaved as he fought the urge to rid himself of whatever stomach contents he might still have, and his eyelids slowly flickered open to let in the blindingly bright lights of the sickbay. The hazy double vision his drugged brain provided him with made him feel even sicker, but he withstood the nausea with what little strength his body had. He saw two blue-clad blurry forms walk over to him and heard them speak in lowered voices, but he couldn't understand a word they said despite his efforts to concentrate on the syllables that rolled off their tongues. Kirk felt his left shoulder and leg being firmly grabbed, and he was briskly rolled onto his side. He was faintly aware that this was done to prevent him from possibly choking on his own vomit, but he wished they would have let him be; if anything, he was now more nauseated than before.

The hiss of a hypo accompanied by the mild, stinging pain in his shoulder evoked a recollection in him, but he was too groggy to grasp that elusive memory. A low groan was pushed out of his throat as someone suddenly reached out a hand to adjust his pillow, and it seemed to attract that person's attention. They set a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder and said something vaguely familiar, although he couldn't quite understand it through his medicated haze. Kirk nuzzled the pillow, another soft noise escaping him as he tried to produce speech with little success. His throat was drier than the red sands of Vulcan.

The presence on his bedside disappeared abruptly, only to be promptly replaced by another one. This one was much more familiar to him, and even though he couldn't quite focus his gaze on their face, the voice repeating his name could only belong to a certain Chief Medical Officer.

"Bones", Kirk managed to croak, struggling to keep his eyes open. Rest of the sentence came out as slurred nonsense, but the Doctor seemed to understand nevertheless.

"Just take it easy for a bit and I'll explain everything later."

Normally the Captain would have tried to protest, but for once he had no desire to rebel against the physician's recommendation. His body felt like it had been beaten to a pulp, and every move he made seemed to require ten times more effort than usually. The distinct feeling of cold had settled onto his shoulders, and he wished he could have expressed his gratitude properly when Nurse Chapel brought him an extra blanket. It was strangely pleasant to have people fussing over him when he felt so utterly miserable.

His heart sank, however, as he realized that the person he wanted at his bedside the most was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to be so incredibly dependent on his First Officer, but the Vulcan's calming presence would have been most welcome during this moment of distress. Kirk shot a gaze at McCoy, who – judging by the look on his face – already knew what the Captain's next question would be, but allowed him to ask it nonetheless.

"Where's Spock?"

"On the bridge, tensing up the atmosphere", the Doctor replied with a crooked smile dancing on his lips. "I'll call him in a few minutes so he can come keep you company."

Kirk's eyes fell shut again, and he didn't bother wasting more energy to open them. This conversation was easier without eye contact anyway. "I need to... to talk to him."

It was a poor excuse and Kirk knew it, but he couldn't just say that he wanted Spock there just for the sake of having him around. He could have done with a little bit of support from someone who wasn't going to jab him with a bunch of hypos, but his ego didn't allow him to admit exactly how scared he was.

"I'll call him, but first we just need to make sure you're okay."

A pained sigh passed the Captain's lips as he pulled the blankets tighter around himself, reluctantly submitting to McCoy's protocols. He was dizzy and cold, and even though the nausea had subsided slightly he didn't feel well enough to start arguing. Kirk rounded his back and pulled his legs towards his chest in an attempt to find a more comfortable position and perhaps doze off while he waited for Bones to finally summon the Science Officer. It angered him that the physician wouldn't do it immediately even though every single member of the medical staff was more than competent to make sure he wasn't going to perish as soon as they turned their backs. And nobody was telling him anything about what was going on either.

Kirk's jaw clenched, but he remained quiet.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Distractions. He needed distractions.

Unfortunately the universe around Spock seemed to have other ideas. The workload dumped onto him due to the Captain's unavailability was completely and utterly dull, and the space around the Enterprise was empty and calm. When a message came through that a private vessel suspected of smuggling was under pursuit by two other Federation ships the First Officer's interest was immediately captured, but it faded quickly when further information reached him. The vessel had been chased to a completely different direction and was unlikely to maneuver back towards the Enterprise's current location. Spock wasn't certain what he had expected.

After hours of staring at the main screen, listening to the hum of machinery and occasionally going through a report someone handed him without so much as a greeting, the Science Officer couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering. Even his attention span – as infinite as it often seemed – had its limits when practically nothing was happening. Desperate to concentrate on anything other than the Captain's current state Spock leaped out of the commanding officer's chair and made a bee line to the turbolift, sharply stating to the bridge crew that he was going to visit Engineering. He felt their worried stares on his sore back as he left, but pretended he didn't notice.

The bridge crew knew that the Captain was unwell, but Spock had remained very reticent when it came to the origin of the illness. He suspected that they already knew, and was quite glad that they had so far spared him from having to explain the circumstances to them.

His involvement in the situation as patient zero was painfully obvious.

-o-o-o-o-o-

By the time Kirk finally heard Spock's voice coming from somewhere around the nurse's station the lights in the sickbay had already been dimmed for the night. He was aware that something had gone down between McCoy and the Science Officer – at least judging by the Doctor's uptight demeanor as he had returned from his mission to find the man – and the Captain was quite surprised to even see the Vulcan show up and run the risk of another confrontation. He wasn't upset with his First Officer, however; the relief of finally having him there ruled out all grievances. He heard Nurse Chapel talking to the First Officer in a lowered voice, but was able to make out the words "he might be sleeping".

Kirk huffed a bitter laugh to himself. As if he would be able to sleep.

The Captain raised his head from the pillow as he heard the quiet clacking of Spock's Cuban heels against the sickbay floor, and through the wisps of golden hair that fell on his face he saw the Vulcan turn the corner and enter the ward with a glass of water in his hand. Kirk produced a tired but genuine smile to greet his friend.

"Evening, Mister Spock."

"Evening." Spock seated himself in the chair that had been brought to the Captain's bedside hours ago. "Nurse Chapel requested that I bring you water", the Commander explained and offered the glass to the human. "She informed me that you are still slightly dehydrated."

A short and slightly labored laugh passed through Kirk's lips as he propped himself further up and accepted the drink. "Do you have any idea how much water they've made me drink today?"

"Knowing Doctor McCoy, a considerable amount."

Kirk took a careful sip, enjoying the coldness of the water. His temperature was still slightly higher than normal, but seeing as it had stabilized around 99 degrees McCoy had decided to let the fever run its course instead of inhibiting it. The cooling blankets were ready just in case, but so far it seemed they wouldn't be needed anymore. Kirk took a few more sips of water before handing the glass back to Spock, who placed it on the bedside table. During the brief silence the Captain had a chance to study his First Officer, and couldn't help noticing the slight tension in him. Biting his lip he wondered whether he would receive an answer if he asked about it, but Spock caught his stare before he could arrive to a conclusion.

"I apologize that I couldn't be here earlier", the Vulcan said with subtle regret and something almost akin to melancholy in his voice. "My presence was required throughout the day-"

"It's alright."

A brief silence fell between them, during which Spock's gaze wandered slightly to the side, breaking eye contact. He had an ever so slightly pained look on his face, but Kirk couldn't figure out what could possibly be the cause of it; his First Officer seemed healthy enough, and Vulcans in general weren't known to show signs of pain unless they were in absolute agony. Then again, it could be that the Captain was simply imagining it, or possibly even projecting his own discomfort on Spock; after all, he craved sympathy and comfort from a source that was unlikely to provide any.

"I assume Doctor McCoy has explained the circumstances to you?" Spock inquired tentatively, his gaze traveling back to meet Kirk's eyes. Kirk gave him a nod, a warm smile lingering on his lips.

"He gave me the short version. Apparently my body didn't take too kindly to a flu meant for a certain green-blooded species."

"I understand that a mere apology is not enough", the Science Officer said quietly, "but I am sorry that my failure to realize that I was still infectious-"

"Spock", Kirk interrupted sharply, his brows furrowing and smile quickly fading. "This isn't your fault."

"I'm afraid I must disagree. Had I been more careful, you may not have been infected."

Hearing this certainly cleared up a few things for the Captain – especially why the Vulcan seemed so unusually tense – but he could still barely believe the words that passed his First Officer's lips. It made no sense that his famously unemotional friend's judgement on the matter was so severely clouded by what appeared to be guilt.

"Spock", Kirk said with an exhausted sigh, and to emphasize his point grabbed the Vulcan's wrist. "Don't do that to yourself. Just... don't."

A muscle tensed in Spock's arm and he slowly looked down at the human's hand grasping his wrist only barely above the second rank stripe. Generally he didn't approve of people touching him without a proper reason, but the Captain had always been an exception to this rule. It seemed that casual physical contact came naturally to Kirk, and eventually the First Officer had gotten used to it, although with varying success. Having his hands touched still made him slightly uncomfortable due to the connotations such gestures held in the Vulcan culture, and thus grasping someone's wrist could be considered highly suggestive. Spock obviously understood that the Captain's intentions were much more innocent, but couldn't help trying to subtly shrink away from the touch. Much to his relief Kirk noticed.

"Sorry", the human said and let go of the Vulcan, giving a coy smile as he retracted his hand. He wasn't really that sorry, but for the sake of maintaining their friendship he figured it was for the best to at least sound apologetic. The warmth of Spock's skin seeping though the fabric of the blue uniform had been quite comforting, and Kirk balled his hand into a fist to savor it a little bit longer. A tight feeling coiled in his chest, and whereas it would have normally indicated a medical emergency the Captain knew that this time it was due to his growing thirst for solace now that he had gotten a small taste of it.

With a slight coolness in his tone Spock soothed: "No need to apologize, for I am aware that there were no... insinuations attached."

Kirk dropped all the way back onto his pillow and made a noise of amusement. He glanced at his friend in the sharpest way he could, marking his question as a challenge. "Even if there were I assume you would be completely unaffected?"

"Naturally", the Vulcan replied calmly. Kirk couldn't help feeling somewhat disappointed that his friend ignored the subtle provocation. Occasionally in situations like this Spock did humor him and engage in banter, but this time the Science Officer apparently couldn't be bothered. "There are some publications available if the subject is of interest to you."

"I think I'll pass on those." _No sense of humor today, hm?_ The Captain thought and gave a short laugh that made his headache flare up again. It was probably advisable to try to get some sleep, and seeing as Spock was providing neither solace nor entertainment it was as good a time as any to call it a night. "Anyway, it was nice of you to visit me, Spock, but I think Bones is going to come scold me soon if I don't get as much sleep as possible."

"Indeed", came a prompt reply, and the First Officer stood up with careful grace. "My schedule permitting I'll call on you again sometime tomorrow."

"I'll hold you to that", the Captain teased and pulled the blankets higher. "Good night, Spock."

Something softened behind the Vulcan's dark gaze as he nodded. "Good night, Jim."

Kirk's tired smile lingered as he watched his First Officer leave, but his heart sank immediately as the lean form slipped around the corner and out of his sight. He wanted Spock to stay, but the mere presence of his friend was not enough to assure him that despite his bout of Vulcan flu, the universe wasn't out to get him.

He tightened his closed fist, but the added warmth in it had already dissipated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Welp, it's been a while but here it is. I'd like to say thanks for all of the new follows and faves, they're all very appreciated. In addition, a massive thanks to Starlight Radiance for helping me out with this story and just being awesome in general :)  
**

**-Ace**

-o-o-o-o-o-

A heavy exhale was all Spock managed as he stepped into his quarters. He was about ten minutes into his 30-minute lunchbreak, which left him with just enough time to freshen up before having to get back on the bridge. He hadn't had any sleep in days, and even though he was capable of staying awake for two weeks straight if he absolutely had to he was already feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation. Denying himself rest was going to become increasingly detrimental to his ability to function, but he had to keep moving. He was aware that whipping himself on this hard was not a sustainable way of handling things, but he kept telling himself that it was only a temporary solution until he found a better way. He did realize how faulty this system was as he was now too busy and tired to take care of any personal problems, but he had already fallen victim to the vicious cycle and much to his own surprise didn't really mind. Avoidance was the absolute worst way to deal with anything, but for now it was the most convenient one.

The door had barely closed behind the Commander as the door chime already gave a sudden whistle. His shoulders dropped and his hands curled into fists in poorly concealed frustration. Not immediately responding to the request to enter his quarters resulted in the door chime being pressed again, indicating some frustration on the other side of the door as well.

"Come in", he announced with an intentional sharp edge in his tone. One of his arched eyebrows crawled up towards his hairline in a very unimpressed motion as the door slid open and Doctor McCoy unceremoniously stepped through the doorway. He seemed alarmingly determined as he crossed his arms across his chest while he waited for the door to close before speaking up.

"I heard that you've been working almost nonstop for the past five days."

"Four days, nineteen hours-"

"Shut up", the physician snapped. "So I talked to Scotty and Chekov over lunch and what they said got me thinking. I'm guessing in your case 'working nonstop' literally means you haven't slept or eaten a proper meal since Friday?"

The Science Officer had a feeling he might not be able to get rid of the man quite as quickly as he would have hoped. McCoy was like nippy bulldog when he got it in his head that something wasn't right; he just wouldn't let go. "I'm currently performing the duties of two people. Having to make some sacrifices to accommodate the increased workload shouldn't come as such a surprise."

McCoy looked like the Vulcan had just spat at him. "Denying yourself food and sleep has nothing to do with work. Let's not even pretend that you don't know that."

The silence that fell between them gave Spock an opportunity to turn his back at the Chief Surgeon and take a seat behind his desk. The physical distance this put between them would hopefully help convey the Commander's disinterest in having this conversation. McCoy didn't seem to consider it as much of a hindrance.

"I was curious so I asked some questions, and guess what else I learned?" The Doctor flattened his hands on the surface of the desk and leaned over it so the Vulcan was forced to maintain eye contact. "You take a break every night during gamma shift to go run on the treadmill at the gym. For two hours. I know for a fact that you don't like running even nearly that much."

McCoy's stare was firmly fixed on the First Officer's face, hunting for even a hint of something resembling emotion behind the stoic mask. Noticing none he moved onto the final statement of his rant, which Spock hoped would result in the human leaving the subject alone and never bringing it up again. "This is about Jim, isn't it? Not much of a coincidence that as soon as he falls ill you start torturing yourself."

"Doctor, this conversation is not a constructive use of my time", Spock stated coldly, dark eyes staring daggers at the physician. "I have matters to attend to before my lunch break is over."

"You actually think I'll allow you to go back to work before you've had at least eight hours of sleep? There are rules about this stuff, you know."

"Ordinarily, yes. I should think you and I can both agree that these are no ordinary circumstances."

"Ordinary enough not to warrant giving yourself a stomach ulcer!" The Doctor growled without giving a single though to how uncomfortable the sudden increase in volume was to the Vulcan. "May I remind you that I have the power to declare you unfit for duty if I observe concerning changes in your behavior?"

Spock's mental exoskeleton performed as immaculately as always, allowing no emotion to trickle through. Beneath it, however, a sudden surge of anger and frustration was billowing in his veins with an alarming intensity. He had neglected his meditation long enough to begin slipping in his emotional control, and Doctor McCoy's blatant blackmail was severely trying is patience. He wanted to remain unhinged, battle it out rather than compromise, but it seemed the end result was going to be the same regardless. The physician would not make such a threat if he wasn't prepared to follow through. The Vulcan officer lowered his gaze but remained defiant even in the face of defeat.

"Very well, Doctor. But I will return to my duties tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., not a minute later."

"I suppose that'll do for now." McCoy backed off immediately upon receiving the answer he wanted and paced away from the Commander's well-organized desk in relaxed, fluid motions. "Look, I don't expect you to tell me what's going on but I can make a pretty decent guess. If nothing else, at least talk to Jim. I think you might both benefit from a good heart-to-heart."

"Heart-to-hearts are not how the Captain or myself handle personal matters."

"Never too late to start, Mister Spock", the Doctor mused as he headed to the door, much to Spock's relief. "Talk to him or the next time I'm going to be much more unpleasant to deal with."

The Vulcan waited for the Chief Surgeon to make his way out of the door before perking an eyebrow and muttering to himself: "You couldn't, Doctor, even if you tried."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Kirk had been told in the past that he was somewhat restless by nature, and waiting to be released from sickbay certainly brought out that side of him. He couldn't help fidgeting like a schoolboy in detention while he waited for McCoy to finish all the paperwork involved. Earlier he had gotten a very stern lecture about the importance of rest and general not-being-a-dumbass, which only added to his antsiness since he was already absolutely fed up with having nothing to occupy himself with. There was an abundance of books in the library database, of course, but he couldn't concentrate on reading with all the pent-up energy he had accumulated. He needed exercise and something useful to do, and he feared his head might explode if he didn't figure something out.

As McCoy was finally done with the formalities he gave Kirk the permission to go, and just as the man was about to make his near euphoric waltz through the sickbay door the doctor barked in his Southern drawl: "Just so you know, I'll be keeping an eye on you. Don't do anything stupid."

Kirk spun around and flashed his most innocent smile. "I'd never."

The Chief Surgeon raised a brow at him and shook his head, grumbling something indignant under his breath. He seemed to be in a foul mood. The Captain settled for a short laugh as a sufficient response and stepped into the hallway, a smile still lingering on his face. There was a giddy bounce to his strides as he made his way to the nearest turbolift, and he had a very hard time resisting the impulse to take a little detour and visit the bridge. Kirk turned the handle of the turbolift, and stated his destination with slight disappointment in his voice. It would have been fun to show up unannounced and surprise the bridge crew, but he suspected that McCoy would most likely find out about it eventually and he didn't exactly want to purposefully evoke the doctor's wrath. He knew better, even though he simultaneously tried to find a way to convince himself otherwise.

Upon emerging from the turbolift he immediately attracted the attention of the crew members walking by in the deck five corridor his quarters were located in. He was in casual clothing, and probably looked like he had just been woken up from hibernation. The Captain was greeted with distant politeness, but he couldn't help noticing the wary curiosity in his crew's eyes; an indicator that despite Kirk's requests, his First Officer had been quite reticent about what was going on.

His quarters were dark and silent as he entered, and turning on the lights revealed that his living space had been cleaned while he had been in sickbay; no doubt to ensure that there was absolutely no possibility of him becoming infected again. Bones had mentioned that since the virus was of alien origin, the human immune system would never develop immunity to it on its own. So far both Kirk and Spock had been prodded with needles more than enough to last them a lifetime in order to not only manufacture a vaccine for the new strain, but to also send some blood samples back to Earth for research purposes. Only very few strains of Vulcan influenza were a threat to humans, and therefore the discovery of a new mutation was of interest. To Spock it had been more or less humiliating.

Kirk unzipped and kicked off his boots, and sauntered through his quarters to the bathroom with the intention to wash off the smell of disinfectant that seemed to be clinging onto every molecule of his body. A quick glance into the mirror above the sink confirmed that he did still look slightly ragged and pale, even though he mostly felt just fine. For the past few days he had suffered from muscle soreness from staying in bed for so long, and his neck and shoulders protested with a dull ache as he pulled his black hoodie and wifebeater over his head. The rest of his clothing joined the temporary laundry pile on the tiled floor, and the Captain stepped into the shower cubicle promising himself that he'd put everything in the laundry basket later. Getting the sickbay smell off of him was a more immediate concern in his current state of lack of responsibilities.

The hot water felt soothingly relaxing against the Captain's upper back, and apart from the sound of running water it was blissfully quiet compared to the constant noise of the ship's medical department. He attended to his shoulders first, kneading every tense fiber of sinewy muscle tissue with his fingertips in motions that vaguely resembled the Vulcan nerve pinch. Spock had tried to teach him the technique on multiple occasions, but so far all Kirk had gained from the exercises was a fairly effective method of dealing with a sore neck. The Science Officer had been mildly amused by this discovery, remarking that it might have more applications than a successfully performed nerve pinch. Compliments like that weren't something Spock usually handed out very readily; a fact that made Kirk feel exceptionally privileged.

The Captain grabbed the bottle of shower gel resting in the soap holder, squeezed some of it onto the palm of his hand and began the process of massaging it onto every inch of his skin to remove any trace of the dull antibacterial soap he had had to subject himself to for the past week. The weirdly chemical smell of it simply didn't leave him feeling clean enough, and quite frankly turned his stomach. He was already very fond of long showers, but trying to rinse off the smell had on most days kept him in the shower for at least forty-five minutes, which had earned him McCoy's unabashed disapproval. But now Kirk was free to cover himself from head to toe in appropriately scented shower gel and soak under the spray of hot water to his heart's content, and he intended to enjoy his regained freedom by detaching himself from the world for the next half an hour. The cloud of warm steam clung to the glass of the shower cubicle and condensed into an opaque layer of fog, forming a cocoon that isolated him from the tedious realities of his current existence. And yet, as soon as he gave some rein to his thoughts, they circled right back to what had landed him in sickbay in the first place.

His memories of the events that had unfolded after he had collapsed in his quarters were still very hazy and vague at best, but he had been plagued by some faint recollections that he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember fully or forget completely. He remembered being placed under a flow of freezing water, his limp body propped up against his Vulcan second-in-command. The First Officer's arms around him, and the relative coolness of Spock's skin against his feverish forehead. The steadfast protectiveness with which Spock had held him. Something about it all seemed to have revived an old, deep-seeded emotional need in him, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Initially he had greeted it with certain bittersweetness like one would a long-lost friend, but its unexpected persistence had quickly evoked concern in him. The feeling gnawed at him constantly, lurking at the back of his mind even when he tried his best to remain distracted. He had spent many of his nights in sickbay desperately going through his vocabulary to at least find a suitable word to describe it, but with little success. It wasn't completely unfamiliar to him as he had spent years willingly carrying it with him as a form of self-punishment, but after working hard to rid himself of it he wasn't ready to welcome it back with quite such open arms.

They were close, Spock and him, but Kirk often felt almost disappointed that there was still a certain barrier of formality between them. Granted, it was infinitely better than how things had been between them back when the Captain had been assigned to assume command on the Enterprise; Spock had been as compliant as he was now – perhaps even more so, since he was now more comfortable disagreeing – but quite curt and almost cold towards the new commanding officer. It had taken two months before the Vulcan had even agreed to eat lunch with the new captain. Eventually they had somehow established a friendship, which had been the first time Kirk had found himself gravitating to his First Officer more than he was perhaps supposed to.

The Captain recoiled; there was a word that came to his mind, but for the sake of his sanity and his friendship with the Commander he stopped himself from giving it further thought. It was tempting to give up on his denial, but the risks of doing so were far too great even for someone used to taking a gamble.

Kirk turned off the shower in angry motions. _I love him as a friend_, he told himself, his inner voice a furious growl. _And that's all there is to it._

…_right?_

-o-o-o-o-o-

Walking around late at night after Doctor McCoy had explicitly told him to get some sleep or else was a calculated risk on Spock's part. Seeing as the only other person currently in a similar predicament was the Captain, it was only logical to conclude that keeping each other company was the ideal way to kill time. He had a sneaking suspicion that the human was still awake since any extended period of idleness tended to make the man an insomniac. The Iowan's intensity was an asset in his work, of course, but in circumstances like these it was very much a disadvantage. Spock couldn't really relate to such susceptibility to frustration since he wasn't even nearly as restive, but even so he was fairly certain that the Captain might appreciate having someone to be bored with.

The only problem with the current plan was the fact that much like the Science Officer, Kirk appeared to have decided that a late-night stroll was in order. It made him significantly harder to locate, but Spock was counting on the fact that there were only so many places the man could go without running the risk of encountering the Chief Medical Officer. The Vulcan wondered whether the decision to leave their respective quarters was actually more about rebelling against the good doctor's orders just for the heck of it, rather than warding off boredom. It seemed very likely, for they both had a very prominent streak of innate stubbornness.

In the galley he only found a group of sleepy-eyed lieutenants, and the observation deck was completely empty. The gym was the next logical place to check, although Spock wasn't sure he liked the possibility that the Captain might be exercising so soon after such a personal experience with the Vulcan flu. Granted, Spock had been quite unwell himself, but his friend could have been dead within a few hours. McCoy had confirmed that neither the virus itself nor the high fever seemed to have caused any permanent damage, but nevertheless the Captain's recovery would take much longer than the Commander's. The Vulcan grit his teeth; he had been the one to bring the virus aboard and to infect Kirk with it due to simple carelessness. He still insisted to himself that he should've been the one to suffer the greater consequences.

Had someone asked Spock would've certainly denied having been even the slightest bit worried when the Captain had seemingly been nowhere to be found, but finding the human did evoke mild relief in him. Kirk was the only one at the gym, standing alone in the middle of the tatami and practicing knife-throwing on one of the foam targets used for recreational archery. The man shot a glance towards the doorway and gave a smile the Vulcan wished he could somehow adequately respond to.

"I see you've decided to give the throwing knives another go", Spock commented with a touch of amusement in his voice. The last time the Captain had attempted to master the art of knife-throwing he had very quickly lost patience and sworn that from there on his set of knives was going to remain purely decorative. It seemed the sick leave was starting to get to him.

"I have read and I have slept", Kirk stated with a short laugh, "which means I'm running out of things I'm currently allowed to do."

For a moment Spock considered admitting that his activities were also at present under the watchful eye of the Chief Surgeon. He decided against it, as Kirk was unlikely to accept a cursory explanation as to why. "Have you made progress?"

"Does it look like it?" The Captain threw the last knife he had in his hands, watched as the hilt hit the target instead of the blade and the knife joined the three others on the tatami. The man gestured towards the empty foam target and tilted his head as an invite for Spock to either mock or console him. The Vulcan didn't like the narrow selection of choices, especially since neither of them were particularly productive.

"I can instruct you on the technique if you'd like."

"Thanks, but maybe another time", Kirk declined, his smile turning shy. "I'll hold you to that, though."

Spock gave a nod of acknowledgement and approached in calm motions, not giving away any of the concern that had just moments ago coiled in his chest like a cornered rattlesnake. He didn't want to in turn give his friend a reason to worry as there was enough going on as it was. Unfortunately, the Captain had become very good at reading him, although his attention seemed to have been diverted by the obvious.

"You're looking a little rough. Everything okay?"

The Commander's right eyebrow made an escape towards his hairline at the comment regarding his tired appearance. Surely it wasn't as obvious as his friend suggested. "I have spent the majority of the past two days engaged in petty politics with Starfleet to find out why our twenty-four-hour maintenance stop at Starbase 11 has been extended to seventy-two."

"Well that doesn't sound good."

"We've been assigned to hand over some cargo to USS Potemkin, but she's estimated to arrive approximately seventy hours after us. Our orders are to wait in orbit."

An expression of mild irritation spread onto the Captain's face to replace his smile as he asked: "And I'm guessing the cargo in question is considered a biohazard, therefore transferring it from one ship to another is going to be an ordeal?"

"Affirmative."

"Thought so", Kirk grumbled bleakly. Protocols regarding the transfer of hazardous materials varied in strictness depending on the substance, of course, but vials of blood containing an entirely new strain of a highly infectious virus most certainly would be considered worthy of more precautions than just a 'handle with care' sticker.

The human's eyes sought out Spock's, and the Commander recognized it as a look of sympathy.

"How do you feel about all that?"

"Jim, what is the one characteristic the Vulcan culture is famous for?"

"You know what I mean", Kirk scorned with attempted sternness, but his distinct for-Spock's-eyes-only smirk undermined the façade as he fondly added: "Smartass."

Spock thoughtfully tilted his head to the side, hands formally clasped behind his back. "The new strain needs to be studied thoroughly and the Federation laboratories on Earth are the best place for that as the threat the virus poses to humans is not insignificant."

"But we managed to contain it. Doesn't that suggest that this particular one will only ever exist in a lab from now on?"

"Quite correct, and I must admit that I, for one, am quite content with that."

Kirk uttered a short laugh in response, slightly shaking his head. "Can't say I'm going to miss it much myself."

The conversation came to a pause and both men were left standing there rather awkwardly. The Vulcan one of the two would have gladly discussed more work related matters if all of them hadn't involved the subject that had brought their pleasant chat to a halt in the first place. Tension was once again suddenly present in the room, even though they had in several occasions talked about what had happened and at least in theory it was supposed to be over and dealt with. But something at the back of Spock's mind kept trying to prompt him to say anything that could potentially make things return to the way they were. He couldn't find the appropriate set of words to use from his otherwise extensive vocabulary no matter how much he searched, and as long as he didn't say what needed to be said he was sure he was driving a wedge between himself and his friend.

Said friend nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Listen, uh… I should probably head back and try to sleep some more."

"Yes, that would be advisable", the Commander agreed and interrupted his train of thought. He could return to it once he was alone, but for now he wanted to direct his full attention back to Kirk, and specifically his mood. Currently there wasn't much change from the usual, except he was perhaps a bit less talkative than normally. That, and he didn't seem to be interested in any prolonged interaction; he had turned down Spock's offer to help him grasp the technique of knife-throwing, was already leaving and so far hadn't made any suggestions to perhaps meet up in the following days for lunch or a game of chess.

The human was quick to collect his knives and place them back into their case in complete silence. Once done, he began making his way out of the gym while avoiding further eye contact with his second-in-command. "Good night, Mister Spock."

Kirk's decision to depart was so sudden and unexpected that Spock was momentarily stricken with a complete lack of any suitable phrases that might buy him some time to find out what was going on. He grabbed the Captain by the upper arm as the man was about to pass him, confident that he could figure something out. The superior officer was stopped in his tracks, and Spock expected to see anger as the Iowan's head whipped around and their eyes locked. What he received instead was an unmistakable deer-in-the-headlights stare, and he heard his friend's breath hitch as if he had just punched him in the stomach. A well-defined bicep instantly tensed underneath the Vulcan's slightly exaggerated grip.

"Jim", he said, his voice slightly lowered to gently coax out an answer. "Is everything all right?"

Fingers closed around Spock's wrist and pried him off, a fingernail digging into the heel of his hand.

"Yes. Why?"

"You seem distant."

"I've got a lot on my mind." Kirk's fingers curled tighter and pushed down on the fluttering artery below the base of the Science Officer's thumb. "Just need some alone time."

Spock swallowed slowly and looked down at his trapped hand. They had had a conversation before about how he would appreciate it if his wrists weren't touched. He wondered if his friend was doing this as a way of testing his nerve. The contact had lasted a lot longer than was required to make him release his grip, and his friend had searched out the spot on which his rapid pulse was very easy to feel. Something a fellow Vulcan would only do under very specific circumstances.

"If it's anything I can help with…"

"This one needs to be dealt with alone", the Captain stated, finally relinquishing his grasp as if he had suddenly remembered that he was still holding onto the slender, blue-clad wrist. "I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you."

A tight knot formed underneath Spock's diaphragm as the men wished good night to one another and the human walked out in steps that were needlessly restrained, as if he was holding himself back to look like he wasn't trying to make a quick escape. The Commander's thoughts were tied in an endlessly looping pretzel as he watched the Iowan leave; he couldn't recall an occasion – in recent history at least – in which he had been this unsure as to what to make of an interaction between himself and the Captain. It made him immensely uncomfortable that he couldn't brute force it into any form of logical mold that would've fit nicely into the jigsaw puzzle of things he knew about James Kirk. Something was different now.

Despite his familiarity with how Kirk's mind worked Spock couldn't tell if the man was in fact in need of alone time or almost desperate to share whatever burden he was carrying, but for some reason felt he couldn't verbally express that. The way he had clutched the Vulcan's wrist would point towards the latter, but the Science Officer was hesitant to make assumptions with so little to go on. It had been quite a way to attract his attention, however, given that Kirk had been educated about that particular section of Vulcan culture and customs.

Perhaps…

No, surely not. The more likely options needed to be exhausted first before he even touched that subject.

Personal reasons weren't enough of a justification to ignore the logical order of priorities.


End file.
